by Gar Wilson
As they reached their destination, they saw tanks and soldiers lined up in front of the walls surrounding the Vatican. The heavy artillery was meant to intimidate the terrorists inside the papal city. No one wanted to start lobbing shells into the Vatican. No one was prepared to take responsibility for a full-scale raid.
"Looks like we've got a Mexican standoff," Calvin James remarked as he peered through a window at the tanks.
"Can we have a Mexican standoff in Rome?" McCarter inquired as he inserted a thirty-two-round magazine in the well of his M-10 Ingram machine pistol.
"Hell, yes," James confirmed. "We had them all the time in Vietnam. One side is bottled up so they can't move. The other side has them surrounded, but can't move either."
"The situation favors the terrorists at the moment," Katz remarked as the bus came to a halt. "It gives them time to make their demands, use the media as a platform to promote their political views and to even try to influence the attitudes of the hostages."
"You mean the Stockholm syndrome?" John Trent inquired, taking a black duffel bag from one of the crates. The hilt of a sword protruded from one end of the bag. The grip was wrapped in sharkskin and twisted black silk, and the guard was black and square.
"That's rarely successful," Katz answered. "The captors have to hold their hostages long enough to make them feel totally dependent on the kidnappers. Some hostages will begin to sympathize with the captors because they're going through a similar experience. They're all cooped up together, waiting for fate to determine how the drama will unfold. I don't think that's likely to happen in this case."
"Gentlemen," Captain Bianco announced. "I just received a message on the two-way radio. The pope has apparently decided to meet with the terrorists in an effort to exchange himself for the hostages."
"Shit!" McCarter groaned, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling of the bus. "If he tries that, they'll probably just grab him and hold him hostage as well."
"Let's get to work," Katz declared as he slipped his prosthetic arm through the strap of a duffel bag. He pulled it onto his shoulder and headed toward the exit.
Phoenix Force and John Trent emerged from the bus. The atmosphere was bizarre. It was as if a military exercise were being held in the middle of a political convention. Soldiers squatted by tanks, puffing cigarettes and discussing the situation. They frequently shrugged, aware they could do nothing but wait. Diplomats and embassy officials dressed in three-piece suits congregated along sidewalks, debating in five languages as interpreters desperately tried to keep pace. Newspaper reporters and cameramen were scurrying everywhere. Television crews from several nations argued about where lights and microphones should be placed. Soldiers and police struggled to keep the press from getting too close to the Vatican entrances.
"We've got a major story here," a BBC reporter complained, waving a cordless microphone as if it were a magic wand. "Don't you blokes believe in freedom of the press?"
"Yeah," an American counterpart agreed. "What is this fascist shit? I thought Mussolini was dead."
Phoenix Force tried to avoid attracting attention as they followed Captain Bianco through the crowd. Trent, Gerald Gardener and Sergeant Como brought up the rear. A French reporter rushed toward the group and began asking questions in stammering Italian.
"Per carità!" Gardener moaned. "Ho premura!"
"Un momento!" the Frenchman insisted.
"Mi si ievi dai piedi!" Sergeant Como snarled, shoving a hand against the reporter's chest. The French journalist staggered backward, bumping against some American television newsmen.
"Hey, watch it asshole!" a voice complained.
"Yankee go home," the Frenchman replied with indignation.
"This Yankee's going to knock you on your ass if you don't fuck off," a burly cameraman warned.
"Isn't it nice that everyone tries to cooperate during a crisis," Rafael Encizo snickered.
"It's inspirational," Gary Manning said dryly.
More reporters were gathered in front of a small library. The entrance was guarded by soldiers, but the press waited outside with microphones and cameras held ready. Captain Bianco told Phoenix Force to stay put. He approached the library alone. The reporters assaulted Bianco with questions, but the captain verbally cut them off with a rapid-fire announcement in Italian.
"Due to national security," Bianco said, repeating the information in English, "I must insist that no cameras or microphones be present. You may take notes, but no mechanical devices may be used."
"Does that mean we can interview the pope?" a reporter inquired. "Has he made a decision to meet with the terrorists?"
"I'm just a soldier," the captain replied. "I have no special connections with His Holiness or the Curia. We're going to meet with the Holy Father, and if he agrees to an interview, that's fine. However, I must insist that you back away from this building and keep your cameras and tape machines to yourselves."
"Why?" an American photographer inquired as he raised his camera and aimed it at Phoenix Force. "Are these men important?"
Captain Bianco suddenly seized the camera and yanked it from the photographer's hand. The neck strap pulled the man off-balance, and he nearly fell before managing to duck his head. The strap slipped free.
"I told you — no photographs," Bianco said sternly.
"Give me that camera!" the American demanded. "You have no right..."
"You have no right to jeopardize Italian national security and possibly the lives of the hostages," Bianco replied. "You don't really give a damn about anything except trying to beat somebody else to a story. That is not as important as human lives."
"My camera..."
"Will be returned to you later," Bianco stated. "If anyone else refuses to obey the rules I've outlined, they shall be arrested and their equipment confiscated."
"On what grounds?" another newsman demanded.
"Obstruction of justice," Bianco said with a shrug. "We'll find a charge that will hold up in court, especially in an Italian court of law."
The reporters mumbled sourly, but they stepped aside as Bianco gestured Phoenix Force forward. The five-man army and John Trent approached. A German photographer suddenly pulled a small pocket camera from his jacket and swung it at the mysterious group. The flash popped brightly two feet from the face of Colonel Yakov Katzenelenbogen.
The Israeli reacted instantly. His right arm lashed out. Steel hooks crashed into the camera, knocking it from the photographer's hands. Splinters of plastic spewed from the camera when it smashed to the ground. The film burst from the rear of the camera.
"Donnerwetter!" the German cameraman exclaimed.
"Clumsy me," Katz said with a shrug.
The photographer began to complain, but Sergeant Como seized the man and ordered two soldiers to place him under arrest. The other reporters watched with dismay as the German was hauled away by the troopers. No one else tried to disobey Bianco's instructions.
Phoenix Force followed Bianco into the library. The main room was illuminated by candles mounted in silver holders. Seated around a long table were eight men dressed in black robes with scarlet capes and red skullcaps. Each man wore a gold crucifix around his neck. None were young men and some were very old, but their eyes were intelligent and alert.
They were cardinals of the Roman Catholic Church and members of the Curia, the governing branch of the Vatican. They were among the most powerful and influential men of the largest Christian denomination in the world. Yet the cardinals did not seem to be men of power. Their garments were regal, but their faces were lined and tired. The responsibility of the office wore heavily on these men. They were good men, devoted to their faith and the duties of their position. Those duties had become a crushing load since their beloved holy city had fallen to the barbarians.
"Please excuse this intrusion," Captain Bianco said humbly, "but we must speak with His Holiness. I'm afraid circumstances do not permit the usual formalities of an audience with the Holy Father..."
> "Va bene," a voice spoke softly from the opposite side of the room. "It is all right. This is not the time for formalities, my son."
All eyes turned toward the figure in white robes who shuffled in from an adjacent room. He possessed a quiet majesty that was more awesome than his title as supreme head of the Roman Catholic Church and ruler ot the Vatican state. The pope was a man of humble origin who had served the church for decades. He had been persecuted by the Nazis and the Communists, yet his faith had remained unshaken.
He had become a bishop and later a cardinal because of his dedication and courage. Then the world had been stunned by the death of a pope who had been in office for only a few months. A papal election had been held eighteen days later. The ballots had been cast within the Vatican. Columns of dark smoke had risen from the chimney until a decision had been made. White smoke had announced that a new pope had been chosen. The decision had surprised most "pontiff predictors." For the first time since Pope Adrian VI in the sixteenth century, a non-Italian had become the leader of the Catholic church. The choice had been the noble, gutsy priest from Wadowice.
"I'm glad we can agree on that, sir," Yakov Katzenelenbogen declared as he stepped forward. 'This is not the time for formalities."
The Phoenix Force commander only understood a smattering of Italian, so he addressed the pope in English. It was rare for Katz to encounter a linguist with greater ability than his own, but he realized the pope spoke and read nine languages fluently.
"May I remind you, sir, that the Vatican is not your country," an older cardinal said sharply. "It happens to be our sovereign territory..."
"The Vatican is not our personal property, Enrico," the pope corrected the cardinal. "It belongs to the church, and the church belongs to her people and to God."
"No one is questioning the pope's authority in this matter," Katz assured them. "But there are many lives at stake, perhaps the lives of people beyond the Vatican."
"I am aware of that, Mr?..." The pope raised his eyebrows slightly.
"Call me Gray," Katz replied.
"All right," the pope said, smiling slightly. The Vatican had always been a center of one form of intrigue or another. The pope was certain that this one-armed stranger and his companions were involved in some sort of covert business. "Actually, Mr. Gray, I have had to make a number of decisions over the last eight years that affect the lives of millions of people throughout the world. I assure you, I do not make such decisions lightly."
"No disrespect intended, Father," Rafael Encizo said, "but this isn't the same sort of situation. We've heard that you intend to try to exchange yourself for the hostages."
"If these invaders feel they have an argument with the Vatican, then they have an argument with me," the pope replied. "I would rather they put my life in danger than the lives of innocent Christians who are not responsible for the policies of the Vatican."
"But you won't accomplish anything," Gary Manning explained. "Oh, the terrorists might release some of the hostages, but they won't let them all go. I'm certain they'd be delighted to have you for a hostage, too. But they aren't likely to give up the rest. Why weaken their position?"
"I'm certainly willing to listen to suggestions," the pope assured the men of Phoenix Force. "I assume you have a plan of action?"
"Well, not exactly," the Canadian admitted.
"Does that mean no?" the pope asked.
"I have a plan," McCarter announced cheerfully.
"No you don't," Manning replied.
"You haven't heard it yet," the Briton complained.
"I don't have to," Manning grunted. "I know what your plans are like. Last time we followed one of your ideas, we almost got killed."
"But other than that it was a bloody good plan," McCarter insisted, stabbing a finger in the air to emphasize his remarks.
"We'll come up with a plan," Katz told the pope. The Phoenix Force commander was eager to draw attention away from the bickering pair. "We've still got to examine maps and blueprints and see more of the enemy defenses."
"And then you will start to kill the invaders," the pope said, shaking his head. "And they will start to kill hostages. If I go to them, perhaps I can stop that from happening."
"Suicide is a mortal sin, Holy Father," Encizo said. "That's exactly what you're proposing."
The pope had noticed that Encizo was the only one of the group to refer to him as Father. The others spoke to him with respect, but only the Hispanic warrior was Catholic. None of the men seemed intimidated by the pontiff's authority. They were not hypocrites or bootlickers, and the pope suspected they only lied when it served a necessary purpose. He liked them.
"The Lord sacrificed His life for our sake," the pope declared. "At times we are called upon to make sacrifices for the sake of others. God gave us freedom of choice. We can refuse to make sacrifices or accept the responsibility, as Christ accepted His. I suspect you gentlemen have made many sacrifices. You must understand that I too have a duty to live my life as I believe and as I teach."
"I believe we do understand each other, sir," John Trent began. "However, the issue is not sacrifice, but the lives of the hostages, the preservation of the Vatican and the lives and properties of those outside the Vatican who may also be victimized by the terrorists."
"And the simple moral issue of whether we should reward evil or try to stop it," Katz added.
"If you surrender yourself to the terrorists, the situation will probably be worse, Holy Father," Encizo explained. "If we handle it, we can probably end this mess with a minimum risk to the innocent."
"Minimum?" the pope frowned.
"There's no way we can promise any more than that," Katz answered. "But I can promise you that if we can get inside the Vatican we have a better chance of taking out the terrorists without unnecessary risk to the hostages and the Vatican's treasures than those tanks and soldiers outside have."
"And when we speak of the value of the Vatican property, we don't mean its value financially, but its value to all mankind," John Trent added. "You can't put a price on that."
"You gentlemen have made a very strong case," the pope stated. "Very well. You can try to handle this your way. If you fail, then I will meet with the terrorists."
"Fair enough, sir," Katz confirmed. "Thank you."
"May God be with you," the pope said.
7
"Well, this is the first mission we've ever had that was officially blessed by the pope," Gary Manning commented as he opened a thermos of black coffee.
"Yeah," Calvin James said, shaking dice in a small plastic cup. "I wonder if it'll help."
"Can't hurt," Katzenelenbogen replied as he watched James toss the dice onto the backgammon board. The black warrior moved one stone three spaces, then another two. Katz shook the dice cup and made his toss.
"You know it's dark outside," McCarter complained, taking a pack of Players from his pocket. "How much bloody longer do we have to wait?"
"Heel, David." Encizo grinned as he stroked the blade of his Cold Steel Tanto knife on a whet stone. "It'll be time to move soon enough."
"I've heard that patience is suppose to be its own reward," John Trent said with a shrug.
"It's a valuable character trait," Katz replied as he moved his last two stones to the inner table of the backgammon board. "Keeps you from having a nervous breakdown while you're waiting."
"Right," Manning chuckled. "Otherwise we'd all wind up like McCarter."
"Piss off, mate," the Briton growled.
The warriors of Phoenix Force and John Trent were inside an eight-meter-long trailer rig at the northwest wall of the Vatican. Several soldiers were stationed in the area, and the trailer appeared to be a sort of temporary office for Italian officers. The troops had received their instructions. They also had to wait impatiently for the fireworks to begin.
The ace strike team was ready for action. They were dressed in black camouflage fatigues and were armed to the teeth. Yakov Katzenelenbogen carried a SIG S
auer P-226, a 9 mm double-action autoloader in shoulder leather under his right arm. A compact .380 Beretta pistol was in a pancake holster at the small of his back, and a large Ballistic knife was in a belt sheath at his left hip. The steel hooks of his prosthesis were mat black to be certain they would not reflect light. Katz also carried his favorite assault weapon — a 9 mm Uzi submachine gun.
Gary Manning had selected an FN FAL assault rifle. The Belgium-made 7.62 mm weapon was thought to be outdated by some, but the Canadian marksman still favored it for its accuracy, reliability and knockdown power. Manning preferred weapons that would bring a man down with one round. The pistol in his shoulder holster was no exception. It was an Israeli-made Desert Eagle, a .357 Magnum autoloader. Of course, the Canadian demolitions expert also carried a backpack with a good supply of plastic explosives. Blasting caps, fuses and detonators were carried separately in his pockets.
Calvin James had also chosen his favorite weapons, the same tools of the trade he had mastered as a SEAL in Nam. His M-16A1 rifle had a folding stock and an M-203 grenade launcher attached to the forearm. The black commando wore a Jackass Leather shoulder rig with a .45 caliber Colt Commander in a holster under his left arm and a Jet-Aer G-96 fighting dagger under his right. A well-stocked but compact medical kit was also carried at the small of his back.
David McCarter had never gone into combat without his pet M-10 Ingram machine pistol. The box-shaped Ingram, with its stubby barrel and short wire stock, was designed for close-quarters combat — McCarter's specialty. The British pistol champion carried a Browning Hi-Power autoloader in shoulder leather and a compact, snub-nosed .38 Special Charter Arms for backup. McCarter had also armed himself with a Barnett Commando crossbow. A twentieth century innovation of an historic weapon, the Commando featured a skeletal stock and a cocking lever to increase the speed of reloading the crossbow.
Rafael Encizo was eager to plunge into action for the first time since he had been wounded in France. The Cuban warrior was armed with a Heckler & Koch 9 mm MP-5 machine pistol and a Smith & Wesson Model 59 in shoulder leather. The S&W autoloader used the same parabellum cartridge as the MP-5. Like Katz and McCarter, the Cuban liked to use 9 mm assault weapons and side arms because the same caliber ammo could be used in either or obtained from one of his teammates in an emergency. The parabellum was an international cartridge, available in almost every country in the world.